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  • Listen:
  • Sunshine
  • Deep Green
  • Underground Railroad Rides Again
  • Mountaintop
  • Traveler's Rest
  • We've got a song to sing


  • Unroll the Scroll




  • Here's a snippet from Smoke. It's an historical flashback. . .

    When the Bolsheviks tore down the Russian Czar’s gilt empire, they immediately began exporting their revolution to the world. That’s the way Marx had conceived their grand plan, and so that’s the way they intended to liberate the working world from the rapacity of capitalistic exploitation. They stubbornly undertook their worldwide project in spite of severe infighting and confused disorganization. So in spite of themselves, the Reds were able to intimidate their moneyed nemeses to the West. Fearfully anticipating an onslaught of Communism from the East, the European houses of wealth and power were scrambling for defenses.

    Thus did they mistakenly identify, in the late 1930s, the German reich, newly constructed under Hitler’s forcefully vicious methodology, as a wishful bastion of European order and capitalistic vigor. Weren’t the Germans the proud forgers of finely-tuned industry and disciplined authority?

    The leaders of the western world were slowly deluding themselves into a tragically misguided assessment of Hitler. Too many of them saw his rise as a potential defense of European order, and the wealth that sustained it.

    This confrontation of semi-biblical proportions would hold as captive a newborn republic, Czechoslovakia, soon to be orphaned at the doorstep of Western naiveté.

    In Petrograd, and Moscow, and out in the wide Siberian steppes, the intrepid Bolshevik leaders purged themselves of dissenters as they went. Apparently this was an unforeseen part of the newly forged Marxist internal machinery—blood and vengeance.

    What the Marxists and the Bolsheviks despised in the gathering of personal wealth they made up for in the accumulation of power—raw, coerced, gulaged power.

    The revolutionaries’ starting premise had been the dissolution of the old order, which was, in Russia, the Czar. Then they intended to rebuild society from the peasantry up, through collective power, collective action and collective ownership of the means of production, The whole plan looked workable on paper—appropriating the means of production from the rich and distributing it to the people, the new so-called proletariat. But the working out of their plan was a different animal. As time passed, it could be seen in the heartless manipulations of the Soviets that power was gravitating toward one man, Josef Stalin. And he was no nice guy.

    By the late 1930s, this was obvious to Adolf Hitler, because he was doing the same thing, drawing power to himself, although he was casting his net in the German way, which was of course superior, or so he thought, to every other damned nation in the world.

    Hitler and Stalin were both, at the same time, eliminating from within their own ranks those who resisted them. And they both used the same methods—murder and fear. Stalin purged those whom he considered enemies of the state, and thereby cultivated rampant fear of insubordination within the ranks. Hitler also killed those who resisted him from within, but his violent strategy went one step further: he elevated, by deceit, his own vengeful struggle (Mein Kampf) to an unprecedented level of hyper-decadent Third Reich policy.

    That one man could inflict such putridity upon the world was an offense of demonic proportions. Even Josef Stalin was fooled.

    Most folks, including the leaders of the so-called civilized world, were clueless about what was going on behind the scenes in Germany and Russia. The bloody business was being conducted in secret places, under cover of darkness. But there was one group of people who detected early on, as they always have, what was happening to our world. Because they, before all others, would pay the dear price for such highly-organized slaughter.


    Here's a snippet from that fourth novel, King of Soul. . . this passage from chapter 5:

    But Liberty and Justice for All is not something that just happens.

    As compatriots with liberation and deliverance, liberty and justice emerge triumphant from the very embattlements of human history. Where their zealous advocates manage to grab some foothold in the landscape of human struggle, freedom is fleeting not far behind. Noble aspirations are all summoned up when the careless slayings of men demand value more sacred, more holy, than the mere clashing of weapons and the expiration of breathing bodies.

    In our present exploration’s story, the bad news is: there is an inevitable outflow—the shedding of blood—which propels violence to ever higher levels of atrocity.

    The good news is: where there’s shedding of blood, Soul is not far beneath.

    In the summer of 1964, all of these elements of human struggle converged in an unprecedented way. Way down south, in the piney woods and sweltering fields of Mississippi, a new activist strain of blood-red camellia was taking root in that freshly-tilled civil rights black delta loam. As God had heard the cry of Abel’s blood arising from Edenic soil, he heard now the beckoning of enshrouded laborers, those dead and these living. Their muted cries called forth liberation; they demanded deliverance.

    So while black folk of the deep South were struggling to register their right to vote as Americans, a vast brigade of like-minded souls from other regions caught a whiff of their newly-planted liberty, and so the new brigades took it upon themselves to go down to Mississippi and lend a hand.

    Go down, Moses, was the call. Go down, collective Moses.

    There were many who heard that call; there was even a man named Moses, Bob Moses from Harlem. He, and others who stood with him against discrimination, planted themselves in Mississippi at the crossroads of injustice and opportunity. Down here in the verdant lap of Dixie where the honeysuckles twine sweetly and the slaves had mourned bitterly, a battalion of wayfaring strangers from far and near came to cultivate the new growth of freedom.

    They were filling a void in the whole of the human soul. Robbed of freedom, the Soul of Man wails out a distress call; then in regions afar, the Soul of Man hears, and resonates with action. Deep calls unto deep.


  • Mountaintop

  • Listen:



  • Boomer's Choice
  • Traveler's Rest
  • Follow
  • We've got a song to sing




  • In chapter 16 of King of Soul , the novel about 1969 that I published in 2017, we find Donnie and Marcy dining in an off-campus hangout, when they are joined by Donnie's friend, Kevin, who is a political activist. The setting is near LSU,1969:

    “Those Yippies—they were really just a bunch of hippies, right?”

    Kevin’s face assumed a professorial demeanor. He was in his element now, and it was evident. “You could, uh, you could say that, Marcy, but these people—they had gathered in Lincoln Park, on the north side, a few days before the convention actually started. They are the political version of those folks you’re calling ‘the hippies.’ Abbie Hoffman and Jerry Rubin and all that crowd—they’re not just into free love and smoking dope and all that flower child stuff—they see all of it as a cultural revolution. I wasn’t there when they started doing their thing in Lincoln Park, because I didn’t arrive in Chicago until Monday afternoon. Their public acts—the skinny-dipping in Lake Michigan, smoking dope, nominating a pig for president—they’re trying to freak people—I mean, like, most Americans, straight, boring people—the Yippies want to rock their boat, make ‘em wake up to really living life instead of wasting away.”

    “Wasting away?”

    “Yeah.”

    “What is it about the way most Americans live that is, uh, wasting away?” Marcy tilted her head to one side, smiled innocently at him.

    Donnie was watching her; his feeling about her was that the way she cocked her head like that was quite endearing. But Kevin’s appreciation of Marcy was different. He was thoroughly engaged with her worldview. “Conformity,” he said, as if it were self-explanatory.

    “Oh.” She smiled and looked at Donnie. He returned the smile and shrugged his shoulders. She continued, “Conformity, okay so, what about it?”

    “Well, it’s, you know, the tickee-tackkee house in the suburbs and Ozzie and Harriet and keeping up system and the status quo, which keeps the war going”—

    “Wait, wait,” Donnie interrupted. “What does the status quo have to do with keeping the war going?”

    Kevin’s face registered surprise. His zeal had brought his posture to an upright position, which he now relaxed somewhat. Looking at Donnie, he replied, choosing his words, “When people are taken care of, when they’re fat and happy, comfortable, mesmerized by the TV, they don’t pay attention to what’s really going on. They’re too caught up in their own lives to notice that their government is conducting a war against a bunch of rice-cultivating peasants in southeast Asia.” Kevin’s eyebrows were raised. The former attitude of amusement had gravitated toward a serious indictment of what he considered to be, apparently, the American way of life.

    After a pause, as the sound system was wailing out Creedence . . .

    “I see a hurricane a blowing,

    I see trouble on the way.

    Don’t go out tonight; they’re bound to take your life.

    There’s a bad moon on the rise.”

    “Kevin,” said Donnie, softly, “you can’t blame the American people for the war just because the government is prolonging it.”

    “Oh yeah?” Kevin’s countenance had changed. Now he looked sad. “You don’t know what it’s like to grow up in Cleveland. It’s not like around here.”


  • Underground Railroad Rides Again
  • Mountaintop
  • Deep Green

  • Boomer's Choice
  • Traveler's Rest
  • Follow


  • Consider this excerpt from chapter 19 of Glass half-Full , in which we find Marcus working hard to remove the stain:

    Marcus opened a can of turpentine. He tipped it slightly so that its upper contents would spill onto a rag that lay on the parking lot next to his car. With the rag partially soaked, he began rubbing on the driver's-side door. Someone had painted a black swastika on it while he was working late. His cell phone rang.


  • Unroll the Scroll

  • When the Saints Go Marchin In
  • Boomer's Choice
  • Traveler's Rest
  • I waited . . .
  • Follow
  • The Real Deal
  • OMG
  • Tune
  • We've got a song to sing
  • Unroll the Scroll
  • Other music to reflect upon:

  • Portrait of a Lady

  • Here's my my personal renditon of a downhome song that truly givew a picture of what life is, or was, in the Deep South; I hope Bobbie doesn't mind. And then there's a classic, hymnish, Woody tune. . . and one class American ballad/love song . . . with some Sunshine guitar splashed in after that...

  • Bobbie's Ode to Billy Joe
  • "Shenandoah"
  • Wayfarin' Stranger
  • Sunshine


  • Buy and Read. . . from Amazon links in the right-hand column above, the 4 novels written since 2007 by Carey, author pictured at the top of this lengthy scrolling adventure in digital text sound.



  • The Real Deal
  • OMG
  • In 2007, Carey wrote and published Glass half-Full, which is a story about some good people who live in the Washington DC area, but some bad things happen to them.

    During 2008, he hatched Glass Chimera, which pertains to genetic engineering and buried treasure at a university in New Orleans.

    2011 brought forth Smoke, a story in which the year 1937 is portrayed, through the eyes of a young American businessman as he travels through France, glancing off the Spanish Civil, befriending a German Jewish refugee family, falling in love, and visiting the grave of his father, who had died in a battle in Belgium in the last week of World War I.

    By 2017, Carey had mustered up the words and chutzpah to fictionally chronicle the defining issue of his Baby Boomer generation—the war in Vietnam. King of Soul depicts the coming-of-age of college student Donnie Evans, who did not fight in Vietnam. But Donnie’s young life is profoundly affected by the Ho-induced maelstrom that surrounded Vietnam, and dominated politics in the USA, during that terrible time of our history.

    Carey lives in Boone with his wife of 41 years, Pat. Being retired, he happily cultivates a vigilant fascination with human history. Ongoing research compels a writerly response. The outcome of this late phase is four novels and 900+ blogs. It's something to do . . . until he is lifted up into that great Gospel in the sky, by 'n by.



    Copyright © Carey Rowland




  • Read blog, no blahblah, current entry: Magnolia Dignity

  • Consider buying a good book today.

    OnAmazon, purchase:

    King of Soul

    Smoke
    amazon.com

    Smoke
    on your Kindle, $2.99

    Glass half-Full amazon.com

    Glass half-Full on your Kindle, 99 cents

    Glass Chimera amazon.com

    Glass Chimera on your Kindle, 99cents,

    and also at these independent bookstores:

    in Salisbury,NC:

    South Main Book Company

    in south Charlotte:

    Park Road Books

    in north Charlotte:

    The Last Word

    in Boone, NC:

    Foggy Pine Books

    Black Bear Books

    in Charleston SC:

    Blue Bicycle Books

    in San Francisco:

    Bird & Beckett Books

    Alexander Books

    in Tiburon, CA:

    Corner Books

    in Greensboro, NC:

    Scuppernong Books

    Langton, in England

    Barnes & Noble

    Glass half-Full,
    Glass Chimera,
    Smoke,
    and King of Soul
    are all available for purchase on Amazon ,

      Quantities of 10 or more can be obtained at a price of $10 each, from the author.

      carey.rowland.glasshalffull@gmail.com